


A Little Taste of Morning

by GlassWolves



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Q is adorable, I wrote this by accident I'm sorry not sorry, M/M, fluffy mcfluffsensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 08:43:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/620228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassWolves/pseuds/GlassWolves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q is sleepy and lazy and wears blue whale pajamas. Bond snuggles him while Q does whatever he does on his laptop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Taste of Morning

**Author's Note:**

> TOTALLY AND COMPLETELY NOT MY PEOPLE. NOT MY CHARACTERS (though I dearly wish they were)
> 
> This is dedicated to eltera ( http://archiveofourown.org/users/eltera ), because they encouraged it and I love you! (They're great, read their stuff.)
> 
> ETA (I don't actually know what this means, other than Estimated Time of Arrival, but I'm trying to be worldly): If anyone actually likes my writing style (and of course, my darling eltera's) and would like to read some of our non-fandom stuff, eltera and I have a tumblr on which we post stuff we write. Although, I've kind of degenerated it into more of a fandom blog. Anyway! Here it is, in case you're interested: http://asirensongoffireandice.tumblr.com/  
> How'd ya like that, R? Shameless self-promotion for all!

Q slouched on his side, his laptop resting on a tangled mess of sheets three inches from his face. His cheek was mashed against the corner of a pillow, there’d be an angry red mark when he lifted his head, and he knew his hair was sticking up at odd angles. He scratched his stomach where his blue whale pajama shirt had ridden up, curled his legs towards his hands to tug the tight ankle of his pant leg down, and closed his eyes, a soft relaxed sigh slipping from his mouth. A smile curled the edges of his lips as he heard the quiet whisper of bare feet on hard-wood flooring. The bed dipped as 007 crawled up to the headboard and began to maneuver Q into the V of his legs, Q’s old tartan robe loosely wrapped and knotted around his hips, too short and falling open, loosened at the neck to show a sloping collarbone and smooth expanse of toned chest. Q snuggled back into the arms that knew a thousand ways to deal death, but treated him to only gentle touches. His tousled head fell back against Bond’s shoulder— who tightened his arms and pressed his cheek to Q’s ear— as he dragged his laptop onto his knees. They sat there like that, Q surrounded by Bond and typing away idly, 007 patient as no one but Q ever saw him, until Q fell asleep to the whispered mumblings of a contented MI6 agent.


End file.
